


A Sailor's Darling Be

by sevensilvermagpies



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Getting Together, Mature Students, Romantic Fluff, a small fight - francis started it, andrew is now andrea, for lesbian reasons, ross n francis also turn up, wholesome content :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensilvermagpies/pseuds/sevensilvermagpies
Summary: Captain Andrea Blamey first laid eyes on Miss Verity Poldark at the inaugural meeting of the Falmouth University mature students society. Later she will call it love at first sight; the poise and grace held inherent in the lithe form even leaning awkwardly against a wall in an overlit and mind numbingly beige corridor.A tour of Falmouth University Campus (and the heart of Captain Andrea Blamey)
Relationships: Andrew Blamey/Verity Poldark





	1. First Meetings

_ Falmouth University Students Union  _

Captain Andrea Blamey first laid eyes on Miss Verity Poldark at the inaugural meeting of the Falmouth University mature students society. If she was a less sensible soul she would've called it love at first sight; the poise and grace inherent in the lithe form even when leaning awkwardly against a wall in an overlit and mind numbingly beige corridor three floors up. 

They’re both early, two of them and her companion, a dark haired man whose stance mirrors Andrea’s own one; military neat. The term has not yet quite begun and the campus is quiet, especially in the latter afternoon, so they see no-one else wander through as they linger outside room 63A. Finally a harried woman of 40 or so arrives in a whirlwind of apologies and welcoming handshakes. Glances pass between them and soft smiles as they help set out a rough circle of chairs before the dark haired man drops pointedly onto a seat curling into himself so he more resembles a comma than a person, commanding the other woman’s attention. 

The clock inches towards 5pm in silence and the room slowly fills, a steady stream of people taking chairs left and right blocking her easy view of the beguiling woman and her companion. They say precious little to each other during the meeting, save to introduce themselves to the group; Verity seeming to prefer prompting her friend to speak and Andrea feeling too awkward without a drink in hand to butt into the conversation that has sprung up around the circle. Instead Andrea watches the other out of the corner of her eye. She is pretty and young, much younger than most of the mature students that turn up. At 36 Andrea must have a good 10 years on her, and she tells herself that this is what stops her from immediately going over and asking her for coffee. 

In the end she leaves, with only the one backward glance, promising herself that the next week she’d make conversation.

  
  


_ The Great Hall _

The next time they see each other is at a ceilidh hosted by the folk music and dance society; she sees Verity tucked away at a back table, her shadow of a cousin absent from her shoulder, away from the stampede of dancers. 

Andrea had held some small hope in a secret corner of her heart that perhaps they would share a seminar group if only to breathe the same air, that she could ask for a pen just so that their fingers might brush, or would bump into each other in the halls of the humanities department an offer could be made to escort her wherever the other needed to go, something in the other woman’s manner made her fingers itch for a cap to doff in reverence. But the next meeting of the mature students society had been bereft of her sweet laugh and Andrea had been left to quietly brood. Her furrowed brow had rivalled even that of Verity’s dark companion, who had turned up without her in tow. 

Now she found herself pulled across the hall as if some unseen force had taken her by the lapels of her jacket, feet steadily bringing her closer to her love. At the sudden thought that she might not be recognised, though she remembers the exact cadence of Verity’s own self introduction from three weeks earlier, a surge of fear rises like bile in her throat, the likes of which she has not felt since she left the deck of the HMS Medway. Her mind blanks, body moving to a funny little half-bow, as if Verity was some kind of lady in a romance novel. It is answered with a charming laugh, scrunched nose and high pitched hiccup only endearing her every movement further. 

“Captain Blamey, what a gentlewoman.” 

“Miss Verity, I am surprised you remember me.”

She blushes, “well I am told I have a way with faces,” and looks coyly up at Andrea as she lowers herself into the seat beside her. 

“Quite a talent, since I haven’t seen you at another society meeting.” She immediately curses her bluntness, but Verity seems to glide over the roughness without faltering. 

“Oh yes, well I’m not actually a mature student, but Ross refused to go on his own-”

“Your partner? Doing mining...”

“Mining Engineering, yes- I mean no! I mean my cousin is Ross, Ross is my cousin...” Her hands flutter nervously around, landing lightly on Andrea’s arm before dropping down to twist in her lap. “I’m a postgrad really.”

“But you are a member of the geography department? No wait it’ll come - Critical Human Geographies?”

Verity seems flustered that she’s remembered, and the fear of being too forward rears its head again before she bats it back down. The shy smile that tugs at Verity’s lips does nothing to calm her erratic heartbeat, as she swings in her seat to face her more fully. 

“What a memory you have! But I suppose being a naval captain before you were a student, you would’ve had to remember an awful lot - all of it very fascinating.”

“Ah but how could I forget one such as you.” And again Blamey curses herself for falling back into the speech patterns of her favourite Austen novels, but it seems only to charm the young woman beside her. “Sailing interests you?”

“Oh,” she blushes again, prettily as a bloom in spring, “exceedingly.”

“Always wanted to be a sailor proper-like, but there wasn't quite enough rigging on a modern naval vessel for me, else I’d probably stayed in the navy longer." 

Verity's laugh peals like bells, "you mean a sailor ain't a sailor ain't a sailor anymore?" and Andrea falls irreversibly in love.


	2. Two For Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually they settle for a lunchtime coffee, stolen between an eighteenth century trade routes seminar and a lecture on the importance of population surveys, in the tiny on campus cafe. Andrea arrives late, dripping and cursing from a sudden shower, but glad of the excuse to huddle closer to Verity in the queue as they peer up at the board, despite Verity’s vocal concern over her lack of appropriate wet weather gear.
> 
> A first date and then a fight.

_Fox Cafe_

Although she has not let her nerves betray her at their previous meeting, and had received with a blushing smile the desired phone number and promise of a date, their relationship may be run aground before it even begins by the rocky ground of conflicting schedules. The working week is packed full of classes and lectures and part time work but Verity’s weekend-long visits to her great-aunt are off the table for rescheduling, not that Andrea would ever ask her to give them up. 

Eventually they settle for a lunchtime coffee, stolen between an eighteenth century trade routes seminar and a lecture on the importance of population surveys, in the tiny on campus cafe. Andrea arrives late, dripping and cursing from a sudden shower, but glad of the excuse to huddle closer to Verity in the queue as they peer up at the board, despite Verity’s vocal concern over her lack of appropriate wet weather gear.

“It didn’t look like it would rain this morning! And I’m sure it will pass before we have to brave the outdoors again.” She shakes her head lightly to release her hair, stepping forward towards the register. “Have you decided?”

“Oh almost, go on - you order first.” 

Andrea does, rattling off her order for tea and a slice of shortbread off to the tired looking student behind the counter, before glancing back to Verity. The moment is a sweet one, almost as if from an artsy film. The sun outside has emerged from behind the clouds, and its steady stream through the cafe windows tinges her dark hair with copper. Like ever it is braided neatly about the top of her head like a crown. Lesser people might dismiss her, with her tan coat and sensible shoes but from her mouth, now scrunched adorably in concentration, came such sharp and light wit as to put any writer to shame. 

“Andrea dear?” Oh no. “If you’ve quite finished staring, flattering as it is, our drinks are ready.”

If it was not said with good nature, and a sweet gesture to lead on, Andrea might have bristled. Instead she simply hopes she’s not blushing like a guilty child caught with their hand in the sweet jar and busies herself pulling out her wallet. 

“Oh don’t worry, it’s on me.”

With her only distraction ripped from her by a surprise chivalrous gesture all she can do is follow as Verity bustles off with their two mugs and a determined air, making for the last free corner table by the windows. They settle in their prime seats, and despite the damp start, the rest of the date is smooth sailing. Conversation is light but engaging, as if she could imagine it being anything else. They do steer clear of talk on their subjects, having nearly exhausted the topic during the dance, but do not run out of thoughts to share. Both of them are delighted to find similar tastes in films and books, not identical but complementary. 

Andrea walks out to her seminar on air, as if the stiff breeze blowing in off the north atlantic has swelled with the emotions in her heart. Not even the resumption of the drizzling downpour can dampen her spirits, buoyed as they are by the springs of fresh love. Everything was right with the world, as ar as this small corner of Cornwall was concerned.

_The Stannary_

“Who is this?!”

Francis’ outrage rattles through the student bar, echoed by a quiet exclamation of disgust from his companion as he nearly drowns them in beer with a drunken gesture. Across the table Verity looks as if she wants to sink through the floor, wincing at the sound of her _darling_ brother stumbling his way over behind her. The soft buzz which two pints and Verity’s company had wrapped around Andrea’s senses dissipates, leaving her cold and disappointed. 

“Don’t “Hello Francis dear” me - what the fuck is this?!”

She echoes Verity’s greeting to Francis is a quiet, wooden tone, aiming to be ignored. Her heart hopes that Verity’s cheerfulness will be able to deflect the worst of her brother ire, but her head is busy scrambling for a reason as to why Francis was even in the vicinity of their date. They had chosen the student bar not for its romantic atmosphere (lacking), or it’s selection of good beers (poor), but for the simple fact that it was on campus and thus patroned almost exclusively by students. Francis, with his position on the board of Poldark Enterprises, was not a regular. 

A solution to the conundrum presents itself in the form of Ross, barging his way into the conversation. His heavy eyebrows are drawn with the stubbornness that Andrea has come to expect during their short acquaintance, but he has a strained smile on his face, and an apology on his lips. He’s clasping two pool cues in his hand; and sports a suspiciously damp patch on his shirtsleeve. 

“Alright ladies? Come on Francis, leave off, let's get back to the game.” 

“No I will not! I will not leave off - I will not!”

He draws himself up further, though not without a wobble, swaying away from Ross’ efforts to shepard him back to their game.

The anger which had seethed away in the dark corner of Andrea’s heart, roiled like the sea in a storm. If he were not Verity’s brother, and very dear to her indeed, she would have sent him packing weeks ago when he first made clear his disdainful view on Andrea’s army career, her previous marriage, and her age - far beyond his own, let alone Verity’s. But she has held it in, determined to show him the simple courtesy of politeness that he has denied her. 

Ross tries again, despite his combative nature, recognising a need for peace, “Francis for god's sakes, you’ll regret this sober.” 

Verity makes a consillitory noise in the general direction of the two men, shooting a pleading look between her date and the door. It takes them no time at all to grab their coats off the back of their chairs, abandoning their half finished drinks in the hopes of a clean getaway and a rescued evening. It was a sight earlier than Andrea was planning on inviting Verity back to her home, but the likelihood of anything else being open this late was slim, and she knew that the other woman’s flat was a few train stops down the line, in the nearest town. 

As they walk away, the sound of Ross berating a now moping Francis for his unwelcome intrusion and insisting that there was no harm in their date, sinks to a murmur. They’ve almost made it to the end of the bar when a voice breaks through the hum.

“No harm? But what about the harm to my sister!” 

Verity tugs on her sleeve as she tries to hurry them quicker towards the door. But Andrea slows her footfall, ear trained on the drunken oaf they’ve left behind them.

“If she must choose another woman, why must it be _that_ woman?” 

At the hearing of which something in Andrea snaps. She stops in her tracks, bringing Verity to a halt in front of her. She glances at her face, ducked down now, to see only discomfort written there. It is enough to spur her movements without pause for thought. She turns sharply on a halfpenny, and marches military quick towards Francis’ wavering form. Verity’s pleas to stop and think, fall on deaf ears as she plants a solid fist across Francis’ enraged face.

He staggers back, stunned, only to fall against Ross. They stare at each other for a second, in shock and fury, for he lunges at her with a mighty yell. Quickly she hops backwards, out of range, and Verity’s cousin is just as quick to lock his arms around a struggling Francis, whose mutters of rage only transfer from her to him. 

Ross simply holds him firm, and ignores his demands to be set free. “It was not undeserved,” he concedes to Andrea, “but you should leave.” 

She does, shrugging her coat on as the cold air hits her. Turning to pace alongside the building’s front, she heaves a few deep breaths, but doesn’t dare look back through the doors, not even to see whether Verity had followed or stayed. The cold air bites at her nose and flushes her cheeks, quiet and unnaturally still. When a few minutes pass and it is clear no-one will be joining her, she turns to go, muttering curses against rotten luck into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this grew on me. Ive got one more setting planned - a hopeful reconcilliation. I also spent significantly more time on this chapter and I think you can probably tell. Poor Francis, he was rather cast as the villian in this - I do like him really.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been to this campus once and it’s very nice. HMS Medway is a real naval vessel, I couldn't find what the canon name of Blamey’s ship was.
> 
> Part 2 coming soon :)


End file.
